The stained remnants of my
Sins remain unwashed.
Red, still fresh, bleeding
Through the wounds of my soul.

Flesh-
My immortal self, seethes
In its sweltering stench;
Provoking the orgy of emotions:
Draining all of me.

Stained

Stained pieces of glass:
Red;
Remnants of the shattered past,
Lay scattered in my tainted memory.

Blood trickles out of torn veins,
As the pain hazes out
In doses of morphine
Soon, they wouldn't suffice.

The stench of old scum
Undulating heaps,
Never disintegrated in time.
They now choke the lungs.

Vision blurs in clouds of smoke;
My soul burning,
With all that remains:
As my human self succumbs.

…Another wet evening, and yet another stroll into the thickets. The trees were drenched and as if out of sheer envy, they shook their branches to drench me. I had folded my trousers up to the knees and splashed the muddy waters of the puddles with alacrity like we did while walking to school on wet days (read everyday). A slippery looking toad hopped over my slippers and I chased it into the wet grass lining the forest pathway. Birds had come out of shelter to look for dinner before the next shower. There seemed to be plenty; butterflies flapped on those little yellow flowers growing out of the light green grass, earthworms wriggled their way out of the soaked soil and the rhythmic screech of insects preparing themselves for their nocturnal stint had already begun.

The water had grown louder since yesterday; I no longer heard those insects. The rotten wooden bridge was still intact. Five felled pine trees lay side by side like lifeless trolls; years of lashing water having caused considerable decay in their bodies. And walking over these trolls was no joke but I loved doing it most.
One…Two…One…Two…
The logs were big and cylindrical, slippery with the overgrowth of moss and fungi on them. I would walk with both arms stretched out sideways as a balancing act, slip and fall, one leg dangling down a crevice and the other kissing a fungus, then get up and resume. One…Two…One…Two…
I would do it for hours with nothing else on my mind. As if nothing else existed, just the dead pine trees, the restless stream beneath and insects screeching the background score.

Freedom on Friday

The hum drowns out,

Music, the silence...

I flap my wings,

As the shackles break.

As you peek,
In the silence of dawn;
I watch enticed,
Your dancing smile…

The Last Grain

Tranquility,
In the moist breathe;
Seethes
Through the stifled throat
As beads of fear
Shroud the craggy lines of fate.

The netted beams of the moon,
Peek
Through the monsoon clouds
And the reeky night; they
Glimmer on the murky puddles
In the backyard.

The last drops of oil
Feed the wick; the flame
Flutters in the icy breeze.
A trickle down her cheek,
As the knells croon …
The last grain of time drops.

Footprints

A walk on the soggy sands,
A waft of soothing air;
The footprints -
The waters steal away,
To treasure in its bosom lair.

Tales of Existence

The lights shimmer,
In the fading daylight.
The noise grows louder,
Relentless, unnerving.
The horns, the coots, the rattles,
Echo,
In the blinding ambience.
Life, scintillating.
There,
Hoards hang on to the door frame,
The rambling bus drags on.
Faces dull tread the sidewalk.
I stare at the facades …
They narrate,
Their tales of existence.

Few Lines

The autumn breeze soothes the air,
Seared by the day.
The day was long, and longer the wait,
The dusk, the cool is here.

Leaves dry strewed on the road,
Trampled and withered.
They were green a day ago,
Before the autumn breeze blew.

The Morning Walk

The morning seemed cooler, silent;
Shutters were down, faces scarce.
Buses few plied the road, empty.
Curs, two of them, on a gravel pile, noisy
The entire market their territory now,
Soon to be plundered by a noisier race.

Soliloquy

I tread alone the dusty tracks,
The world no more a stage.
A dry relief, I see no greens,
Drops saline, count my age.

You smirk at me, in fading dusk,
And tread towards the brighter east.
I beseech, sweet memories implore.
As pricks of time shred my core.

I walk the grime, and trip and fall.
And walk again against the time.
You look at me in a brutal glee,
As I fight with my life sublime.

Many a mile, yet I tread alone,
And my lips still bear an aching smile.
I pray, as I drag my tattered knees,
An ardent wish as I drain my bile.

Let not tears wash hearts seared dry,
May sparks of love endure …
And in those bereft who cry in vain,
Rekindle the hope I implore.

Few lines

It soothes no more,
The endless sky;
Chainless, I soar,
Secluded, I cry.

Few lines

I tread alone the dusty tracks,
The world no more a stage.
A dry relief, I see no greens,
Drops saline, count my age.